


in the darkest little paradise

by thelilacfield



Series: there is no world where i am not yours [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, F/M, fluff of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27841960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield
Summary: He tastes sweet when her fangs pierce his skin. And he gasps a strangled something that might be her name when she sucks, startling her so much she pulls away too fast and leaves a ragged wound.When she looks up at him, his eyes are dark with want, his lips slightly parted, and she leaves much more hastily than she should.
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Series: there is no world where i am not yours [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859725
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	in the darkest little paradise

**A/N:** Day 2 of the AU-dvent Calendar! Presenting a vampire AU leftover from AU-gust!

TI'm on Tumblr and Twitter **@mximoffromanoff** if anybody wants to chat about all things scarletvision! Enjoy, and please let me know with a comment if you do :)

* * *

Standing on the street corner opposite the blood bank, her hands tucked into her pockets, Wanda stares at the door. She's not sure what she expected. Black wood with a gaudy gold knocker, flickering red lights, the window blocked by deep crimson velvet. Something more like the vampire bars she sometimes lets Natasha drag her to, filled with people in collared capes and black lace, humans and vampires mingling in the strobing light and heady dark beat.

But it's just a tiny little building, the blue paint peeling from the door. Like any other local business on a street corner, but for the credentials of the owners spelt out in shiny little letters on the door. Owned by a scientist specialising in vampire studies and her doctor wife, both subjects of numerous articles since they first announced their intention to open this blood bank. A bank where humans can safely have vampires drink from them, and vampires can have human blood from the vein. It always tastes the sweetest that way.

And that door opens onto a reception much like the ones in every office she's ever been in. Cream walls decorated in pastel paintings depicting fields of flowers and picturesque oceans, soft welcoming lighting, and an overly perky receptionist. Her uniform is all black, a discreet drop of blood shining on her name badge, and she smiles at Wanda and asks, "Donor or vampire?"

"Uh...vampire," she says, and the receptionist smiles so widely it's unnerving. "I...I haven't been here before."

"Oh, don't worry, ma'am, I can explain everything!" she chirps. "Welcome to the Melrose-Whitman Institute for Safe Feeding! We allow vampires such as yourself to be safely and ethically matched with willing human donors so you are able to drink fresh human blood rather than frozen or synthetic offerings. Our donors are from a wide range of background and lifestyles so you will find your perfect match. The two Doctor Melrose-Whitmans hope that this establishment will inspire others to follow suit and improve the stability of human-vampire relations to remove the need for hunting."

"So...what do I...do?" she asks, and the receptionist's eyes brighten.

"So you fill out a form for us," she says, producing the sheet of paper from beneath her desk. "Your name, your government registration number, your preferred blood type, whether you had any allergies as a human, if you have a preferred gender for your donor. Then we run your forms against all the donors we have signed up with us, and find your perfect match."

"Like online dating?"

" _Exactly_!" she gushes. "But for your health. I read all the research, so I know that from the vein is actually the healthiest blood for vampires to drink. If I can just get you to fill out these forms, you'll be benefitting soon enough!"

So she takes the proffered pen and fills out the forms in red ink - if she's learned one thing since she was turned fifty years ago, it's that vampires are nothing if not thematically consistent. And she returns them to the receptionist and her too-wide smile, leaving the tiny building into a fine mist of rain that she turns her collar up against.

Less than a day later, she has a message on her phone to tell her she has a match.

* * *

She approaches the blue paint of the door cautiously, tugging anxiously at her skirt. When she gets home she'll have to put away the array of clothes scattered all over her bed from the flurry of trying to decide what to wear to come here again. She's already regretting comparing the vampire-donor matching process to online dating, because it made her feel all morning like she was getting ready for a date. She even curled her hair, for God's sake.

The same receptionist is standing at the desk, perkier than ever, and beams at her. "Good afternoon, Ms. Maximoff!" she chirps, and Wanda just nods, untangling her crimson scarf from around her neck. "Mr. Shade is in room four. He's waiting for you."

She tries very hard not to think that there's something strangely sinister about that phrase, her heels clicking on the wooden floors while she finds room four. It's a plain black door with a tiny gold number above the handle, and she takes a deep breath before lowering the handle and stepping into the room. It's all low warm lighting and soft furnishings, the toes of her pointed boots sinking into a plush carpet, and words dry up in her throat when she looks at her donor.

Victor Shade is nothing like she imagined. The name alone made her think he'd be older, not the man who can't be any older than his mid-twenties sitting in front of her. All blue eyes and blonde hair in a handsome face, and a nervous smile and a slight stain of pink in his cheeks. And when he says, "Hi," in a soft voice she almost turns on her heel and walks out again to compose herself.

But she makes herself smile politely and say, "You must be Victor Shade."

"Everyone calls me Vision," he says, and she nods, teetering on the balls of her feet, not sure how to approach this situation. Whether she should sit down next to him or stay on the other side of the room. What she should ever say. "You're Wanda Maximoff, right?"

"Right," she says, and then the silence falls again. Until she finally gives him a small, nervous smile and asks, "Do you think this is as weird as I do?"

He laughs, a breath of a sound, and says, "It does feel like a particularly awkward blind date."

"Like a friend's co-worker who they think you'd get along with but all they talk about for three hours is their expenses figures from last quarter," she says, and he laughs again. A handsome man, laughing at her jokes. It's enough to make her undead heart skip a beat.

"So how can we make this less awkward, Ms. Maximoff?" he asks, and she shakes her head, dropping her scarf and coat to the ground.

"You can just call me Wanda, for a start," she says, and tucks her skirt beneath her thighs when she sits down next to him. "I don't know, just...tell me about yourself. Things that weren't in the little profile about you they gave me."

"Did it mention my cat?" he asks, and she nods, a helpless smile slipping onto her lips. He's sweet. "Her name is Simone. I can show you photos?"

"I'd like that," she says, and he takes out his phone and shows her photos of a sleek silver cat. The tension seems to ease a little, and she finds herself asking, "What made you volunteer as a donor here?"

"Oh, I...um, I wanted to help," he says, colour spilling across the high points of his cheeks. "I know it's better for vampires to drink fresh blood. And this could help humans and vampires stop being scared of each other. It's not fair on anyone that way." He ducks his head and quietly adds, "And I thought...maybe...I might make some friends."

"That's sweet," she says, and looks at him. Her eyes keep straying to the veins on his wrist, her fangs aching, and she asks, "Can I...drink from you? Today?"

"That's why we're here, isn't it?" he asks, and she reaches gently for his arm. His breathing goes shallow when she curls her fingers around his wrist. He's nervous, like she is. It's been years since she last drank from a person.

He tastes sweet when her fangs pierce his skin. And he gasps a strangled something that might be her name when she sucks, startling her so much she pulls away too fast and leaves a ragged wound. "I'm sorry," she breathes, watching the blood rise and spill down his skin, streaking his arm in scarlet. "I...just let me-"

"Do it," he breathes. "Anything." When she looks up at him, his eyes are dark with want, his lips slightly parted, and she leaves much more hastily than she should.

She's not going to see him again. No matter how handsome he is, or how sweet he tastes, she's going to stay away. It's putting her far too close to the knife's edge of something she swore she'd never do again.

* * *

She spends two weeks trying to convince herself not to go back. She doesn't need the fresh blood when she can get by on the synthetic packets in her fridge. There's no need for her to go back to that black door with its little gold number and the man inside. Even though her thoughts are constantly dogged by blue eyes and parted lips and the strangled sound of her name when her fangs sank into his skin. She won't let herself go back.

So she tells herself for a fortnight. Then she finds herself making an appointment and going back to the clinic, dressed for seeing him. She can't stop herself thinking about how handsome he is, making sure that her knee-high boots are polished, the dark red coat that Natasha always says is far too quintessential vampire for her to wear without shame wrapped around her, her hair curled and glossy around her shoulders.

When she opens the door to him again, something in her swoops and swirls. He's gazing at her with so much softness in his eyes, and when she sits down next to him he says, "Hi," so sweetly that her entire logical argument for not coming back flies away in the wake of _him_.

She wanted to make herself stay away. But his eyes are so blue, his long fingers running through his hair, and when he silently offers her his wrist for the bite she finds herself reaching for him, the sweetness of his blood in her mouth. His breathing goes shallow when she bites, and when she drags her tongue across his wrist to seal the puncture wounds he rasps out a groan that makes her jerk upright and move away.

"So," she says, searching for something to say, something to help them breeze past him groaning at her touching him and the way her head is spinning with it, "how have you been?"

"Better since I got the call you'd be back," he says, giving her a glance from beneath pale lashes that sends heat zinging through her. She's supposed to be beyond this kind of teenage lust. Fifty years as a vampire, an unbeating heart and veins empty of blood flow, and she's still giddy at a soft voice and a smile. "I thought I'd done something...wrong."

"No, you didn't, you didn't!" she insists. She hopes there's no quiver in her voice to betray the bending of the truth, how much it frightened her that he gasped her name when she bit him. "I just...this is a strange situation. And I didn't know how to deal with it at first."

"I know it's strange," he says softly. "When I signed my name on the forms, I didn't really expect...you."

"What about me is so...unexpected?" she asks, and immediately regrets fishing for compliments. But he's shifting on the bench, his gaze on her so open and awestruck, and it's making her mouth dry and her chest hurt.

"I didn't think you'd be so beautiful," he breathes, and she glances away. "I didn't think I'd want to know so much about you."

"Vision, I...you can't say things like that," she says, and moves away from him on the bench. The nerves are crawling back up her throat, hot and cloying, the fear of falling for a mortal man. He can't look at her like that, all bright eyes and soft smile. If she lets herself, she'll be in his arms, be setting herself up to lose someone else to the reality of being immortal.

"But it's true," he says, and smiles. "Just tell me something about you. How did you become a vampire?" Her face must darken at the memory, because he hastily retracts into, "I'm sorry. You're right, we barely know each other. You don't have to tell me anything."

"Well...maybe, if you want to be friends, you could have my number," she suggests, and he lights up. "Then we can talk in between these...meetings. It just feels awkward in here. I don't want to only see you when I'm coming to drink your blood."

"I would love to be friends, Wanda," he says, and she lets herself smile. Gives him her number and looks down at her phone on the walk home to find he's already texted her a list of things he wants to know about her.

She talks to him until his replies stop coming and she assumes he's asleep. And she tells herself at the silvery apex of dawn that being just friends is good. It's enough.

* * *

With every time she sees Vision in that softly-lit room, it becomes less strange. She spends perhaps an hour in there with him, the two of them talking and getting to know each other. Now the receptionist greets her with genuine warmth and tells her that they are the realised dream of the doctors who created the clinic. A vampire and a human who can become friends, where the exchange of her drinking his blood is secondary to their enjoyment of each other's company.

She tells him how she was turned. With his concerned gaze on her, she relives that terrible night, the man with his glowing silvery eyes towering over her, the fencepost in Pietro's shaking hand, his blood everywhere and her throat hot and raw with screaming when she watched him die. Being left in a dying heap in the ditch, until she woke up cold and thirsty. Running away and continuing to run until she found somewhere, found friends, found a home. He reaches for her hand when she finishes telling him, squeezes her fingers with his hand so warm it scalds her, and says, "You're so strong, Wanda."

He tells her about his past. That he's an orphan, that he left London when he was eighteen for college and never looked back. When she doesn't see him for a week, feeling his absence like a hollow in her chest, he shows her photographs from his friend's wedding in Pennsylvania at their next meeting. The seasons cool into winter, sparkling frost and Christmas lights, and she tells herself every night that she doesn't want him. That friendship is enough.

And then he breaks through every wall she's tried to throw up against him. He looks at her with those bright, beautiful, _human_ eyes and softly asks, "Will you bite my neck?"

She's so surprised that she jerks in her seat, automatically slides away from him. They've been close since she arrived, talking about what they're doing for Christmas, and there's a long silence before she finally says, "That's against the rules."

"I won't tell if you won't," he says, a tiny sweet smile at the corners of his mouth. Genuine. "I...I read that the neck is the best place for you to drink from. You know, all those movies getting something right."

"But...I could hurt you," she says, and he cocks his head at her. "It's easier to stay...distant with wrists. But when you're drinking from someone's neck, it's...you're very close to them." If she had blood in her veins, she'd be blushing. She's thinking about being that close to him, the sweetness of him, smelling his cologne and the cotton-fresh scent of his clothes with her face pressed into his neck, his warm skin, her hand cupping the line of his jaw. She can't deny that she wants to do what she shouldn't.

"You could never hurt me," he says, and she glances away from the heaviness between them. It weighs down on her, makes her want to let him take her in his arms, makes her _want_. She's tried hard to resist the strange pull between them, but it keeps reeling her closer and closer to a line she shouldn't cross.

"If...if I do this," she says, and he lights up, "will you let me know if I'm getting carried away?"

"Of course I will," he says. "I trust you, Wanda. Please trust me."

And she lets herself move closer to him, the moth to the flame. His sweater is low on his neck, and she wonders if he planned to ask her for this today. She reaches a hand up to his cheek to turn his head slightly, needing to touch him before she does this. Her fangs drop from her aching gums at the scent of him, so sweet, and his breath hitches.

When her fangs sink into his neck, he groans. When she sucks, he whispers her name and his hand darts across the cushioned bench to her thighs, the hard points of his fingertips digging into her skin through her skirt. His skin is warm, her face pressed into the hollows of his neck, her hand clutching his chin, and she drinks her fill. He doesn't stop her, and when she falls away with a last lick to seal the puncture wounds she finds him staring at her, his eyes dark, his lips parted.

And she kisses him. A wild, hard, broken barriers kiss. Her hand twists into his hair and his hand on her thigh grips so hard it hurts. He kisses her back, a push and pull with her desperate strength, everything that she's built up between them crumbling in a single moment. And he's tugging her into his lap, breaking the kiss in a brief moment of eye contact before he kisses her again, before he's whining at her fangs piercing his lip, and they're tangled in each other, the hand she doesn't have in his hair at his face, feeling the smooth skin of his cheek, his lips moving with hers.

Then she realises what she's doing. She reels backwards out of his lap, and he's still reaching for her, his mouth swollen with kissing, a drop of blood shining from a wound on his lower lip. He's flushed and his eyes are glazed with lust and he's staring at her like she's the only thing he knows how to see. "I'm sorry," she gasps, gathering her coat from the floor, haphazardly grabbing her belongings. "I-"

"Don't go," he breathes. " _Wanda_ , please."

"I _can't_ -"

"I want you to stay," he says, and he's standing up, crossing the room to gently take her hands, his face open and bright and honest and breaking her heart. "Please. I...I've wanted to kiss you like that since I first saw you. Don't leave now."

"We shouldn't," she says frantically. "It's breaking every rule of this place-"

"Then I'll retract my services from them and we can be together without the clinic," he says. "It's just where we met, it doesn't _matter_ -"

"It _matters_ because you're mortal and I'm a vampire!" she snaps. "It matters because I'm predator and you're prey and I'm taking advantage of you, I...I've got you in my _thrall_ or something, and I didn't mean to but you obviously _are_ , because the first time I even _touched_ you you _moaned_ -"

"Wanda," he says, and his eyes are glinting with something that might be mirth, and if he's really _laughing_ at her right now she's going to scream, "I moaned because a stunningly beautiful vampire bit me. I wanted you then. I want you now."

"I can't be with a mortal," she says. "I've done it before. It doesn't _work_ -"

"I'm not them," he says, and his eyes are bright and his hands are warm around hers and she wants to let him wrap her in his warmth and never let go. "Whatever happened between you, it won't happen between us-"

"There is no _us_!" she insists, and hurt blossoms like a bruise across his face. "We just kissed. And I can't be with you, because the last time I was with someone mortal he swanned off and got engaged to a girl and told me I should've expected to just be some novelty fling and I was heartbroken over it for a fucking _decade_ , I can't-"

"You are not a novelty to me," he says. It should be illegal for men as handsome as he is to have such soft voice and look at her with light in their eyes, for his thumb to be brushing so gently over the back of her hand before he lifts it to his lips and presses a kiss to her palm that sends a lightning bolt of want right through her. "Please. Give this a chance."

She stares at him. Hair in his eyes, the kiss-flush still staining his cheeks, looking down at her with honesty painted in his eyes and promising her so much. And she slowly leans up to kiss him, his mouth so soft above hers.

"I could hurt you," she says when they part.

"And I could hurt you," he says. "That's all part of this. I trust that you won't hurt me. And I will do anything to help you trust me."

"You really want to be with me?" she asks.

The kiss he leans down to linger in is enough of an answer.


End file.
